Stars
by CaptainOldDog
Summary: People's hearts are fragile things, some's more than other's. Pyro gave Scout his- and in an effort to preserve his image, Scout broke it, and broke his own in the process. Now everything's extra fucked up, Scout's secret is out, and he has to learn to either move on or learn how to say sorry, and hope that's enough. Warnings for cursing, homophobic slurs and drama.


Scout didn't know what it was, but it sure felt like love.

The gentle words, the butterfly kisses on his neck, the soaring feeling he got whenever their lips touched, and above all else—the sex. To be honest, that was probably what kept Scout around, the wild sex and the feeling it left that lingered for days. The hot, light feeling that flopped in his chest whenever he thought about them, the way his pulse freaked out whenever their hands touched.

Yeah, it felt a lot like love. Scout had a hard time admitting it because he was probably in love with a man. Not just any man, a man in a gas mask. A man who painted rainbows and wore pink underwear, a man with the most girly fucking flower tattoo on his back and a man with minty strawberry breath. Pyro, the freak that played with fire like he played with Scout.

When he was little, his mother would take him and all of his brothers to church. It's name was unimportant; it was like any other church, but he could remember a pastor with cream-colored hair telling about the faggots, the homosexuals. How to watch out for them, how they were sinners, and how to ignore them. Scout and all his brothers believed that. He was raised a good church boy, but now look at what he was; at least once a week he found himself in bed with a dude. The thought itself made him sick, but there wasn't any denying it. He was a fag, too. If his brothers found out, they'd disown him. If the rest of the team found out, they would treat him like a freak show, like Pyro.

He didn't want to be like Pyro. For a man he loved so much, Scout also hated him.

Scout would've cut off the relationship before it even fucking started if it wasn't for that face. The perfect eyes, the jawline, the freckled skin and curly hair. Pyro had the kind of face that almost belonged on a chick but it looked so perfect on him.

Scout never liked women, not like most men. He's flirted with several, bedded a couple, but that was all fake. He knew it then and he knew it now. The thought made him want to scream, it made him want to kick and yell and throw tantrums so big the whole base could hear. It made him want to run clean across the desert and never look back, but he couldn't do that.

Something about that man was intoxicating. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't get enough. And at least, if he were to go to hell, he and Pyro could go together.

* * *

One week in Sawmill they had almost been caught.

It was one of this spur-of-the-moment things, the kinda thing you know is stupid before you even do it but you do it anyway because you need to. Because it feels good.

He and Pyro were having a make-out session in one of the hallway closets. It was before dinner, while they were both still dressed in their clothes from the match earlier that day. Pyro's mask was on the floor.

For the longest time Scout wondered why Pyro chose to wear that mask around everyone. Now he was happy for it. He felt privileged he was the only one that got to see Pyro's face. Engie, maybe the Doc were the only other two that might have once or twice, but Pyro took off the mask for Scout and only Scout.

While in the closet, Sniper came walking by calling their names. What for, Scout hadn't a clue, but he was right outside the fucking closet.

Pyro was a mess. He probably wanted to get caught, wanted everyone to know Scout and him were in the same boat. He was making enough noise to wake the dead and the only way for Scout to shut him up was to cover his mouth and nose with his hand and hope he got the message.

Thank God Sniper didn't check inside the closet. Why would he? In Sniper's mind, there was absolutely no reason the check the closet. Scout couldn't help but think about what would've happened if Sniper had opened the door…what if Scout's secret— _their_ secret, got out?

Sniper still didn't notice anything and walked on. Perhaps he only pretended not to hear and just ignored it. Hard to tell.

The two cleaned themselves up a bit, Pyro put on the damn mask, and they split up for the night.

* * *

Two weeks after that in Teufort, Scout was pretty damn sure Engineer knew. Whether he'd found out on his own—likely, as he's good at reading subtle cues—or if Pyro told him—equally as likely, as Pyro hangs around Engie almost as much as he hangs around Scout—he knew.

The man gave Scout sideways glances on the field. Raised eyebrows and odd looks. Threatening looks. Cautionary looks. Engineer knew, and as if to prove it, he called Scout into his workshop one night after dinner. The late-night desert air was thick with the sound of crickets and the stars out the window were beautiful, though in Engie's workshop that all seemed miles away.

Pyro quite liked looking at the stars, Scout knew. Just the other day Pyro was talking about getting constellation tattoos on his chest.

Engineer then handed the kid a beer, sat him down on one of the crates in his workshop of elaborate and miscellaneous things, and said something that Scout hasn't stopped mulling over in his head since.

"Listen, I don't give a rat's ass what ya'll are doin' behind closed doors, but know this. Pyro ain't got much, and he's told me you're somethin' special. You do somethin to hurt 'em, an—"

"Whoa, wait just a minute, what are you yammering on about?" Scout forced a laugh that sounded fake even as it left his throat. "Dude, I like chicks, not fairies who play with fire, we clear?"

"No, boy, are _we_ clear? You mess him up and you'll be seein' pain six ways from Sunday."

Every part of Scout was shaking.

"Jesus, yeah, we're clear, alright? I don't have a fuckin clue what yous talkin' about, but sure, we're clear."

Scout stood up with all the grace of an elephant and felt so lightheaded that he struggled to keep balance. As he left, Engineer's glare burrowing into the back of his head as he walked away left a feeling of guilt so thick he could've tasted it.

* * *

It got worse. Only a week after the incident with Engineer, Spy noticed a hickey on Scout's neck. He noticed it before even Scout did. Whereas most people would've ignored it, of fucking course Spy wouldn't have done that. The asshole took two fingers and pressed them right up against the mark, in case Scout didn't know (he actually didn't know, but he pretended he did).

"Who's the lucky lady?" he taunted, for both of them knew there wasn't a woman for miles around. The taste of utter hatred filled Scout's mouth, and he practically growled at the taller man. Spy smirked that shit-eating smirk of his and held his hands up in mock-defense.

Scout's voice was like glass, wibbly and wobbly, fragile and shaped like shards.

"...You're not gonna tell no one, right?" Scout knew Engineer wouldn't tell anyone, and he was pretty sure Engie was the one person Pyro would tell, but Spy? Spy might just blab to the whole world.

The most frightening thing was how the man didn't answer. He straightened his tie, muttered something about how he hoped Scout was using condoms, _as if he cared_ , and left Scout by himself to brood.

* * *

Later that night, Pyro made his way into Scout's room.

As soon as the other man shut the door behind him, Scout exploded. When their fling first started, they made an agreement—no visible marks. Didn't mean shit for Pyro, who held up in a mask and suit all day, but for Scout it was huge.

Fiercely, he told Pyro how Spy noticed, how he'd been wandering around all day with a damn hickey and _everyone_ probably noticed. His words were like lava gushing from through clenched teeth.

Pyro acted like he thought it mattered for a couple of minutes and let Scout vent, till he went from molten lava to warm stone. Then all he wanted was to get Scout's clothes off.

In all honesty, that was what Scout had wanted, too.

* * *

Pyro handled the next close call less than a week later. The team was celebrating a victory with seven cases of beer and Medic's juice box, turned up all the way. Scout didn't bother drinking with any of the guys, no, just Pyro. Everything he was doing now was with just Pyro.

He wondered when that had happened. He used to talk to everyone and now he probably seemed like a cagey freak.

Demoman came over and sat by the two of them, growing tired of everyone else. The man could hold liquor ridiculously well and looked as though he wasn't even slightly buzzed when he was on his fourth. They had casual conversations. Pyro mumbled along too, even though God himself wouldn't be able to tell what the fucker was saying.

Then Demoman outright asked if they were fucking each other. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't mad, he wasn't asking to cause them pain. He just asked.

It made sense for him to ask. They had been hanging around each other, palling around like two ducks in their own pond. But the old hickey, Scout knew, was probably what gave them away.

As if two people could have an entire conversation with one look, Pyro did everything Scout hoped he would and then some.

After smacking his knee, Pyro dropped to the floor laughing. Uncontrollable, eerie, predictable and spilling out of the mask all at once like a dam break. The kind of laugh that that rattles teeth and makes the hair on the back of necks go up. It was cold.

Scout tittered along.

Once Pyro gained control of himself, Scout had to resist the urge not to pick him off the floor. Pyro got up by himself—a bit slow, for he was at least tipsy—and turned to Demo.

"Memmfo, Mmf ah mlesmphban."

Demo smiled and laughed, and from then on, they proceeded to have a good rest of the night.

Scout didn't; that was too close. What if everyone else would soon find out? I was getting too obvious. Shit, Engineer and Spy fucking knew, and Demo—fuck. Scout's palms were sweaty as he set down his drink and excused himself.

The young man locked himself in his room the rest of the night.

* * *

Pyro came into his room at around midnight. He took off the mask immediately. The suit followed, revealing slender shoulders and a cat-like build. Smooth skin. The coneflower tattoo that Scout was beginning to like. No underwear, for a change. Gentle freckles that went everywhere. Hair so blond it was snowball-white. Beautiful, probably the most beautiful man had ever seen, but this was the last time Scout wanted to see him.

Things were getting too complicated. Too involved. The team was noticing. There, with Pyro naked in front of him and the anticipation of sex in the air, Scout told Pyro that he didn't want this anymore.

They were done. They were through. And it hurt to say, it hurt like needles stabbing his very being, but it hurt Pyro so much more.

"Is it because of the Demo thing? We handled it, please, don't do this to—"

"It's not just the Demo thing, alright? It's everything. This, this is freakin' wrong anyway."

"Scout, come on, please—"

"Keep your voice down, Soldier's right next door, you know. He sleeps heavy, but that don't mean shit if he ain't asleep yet. Heavy's just across the hall, too."

"Don't change the subject."

"I ain't changin' the subject, alright? Jesus Christ Pyro, I'm sorry, okay? I'm so fuckin' sorry, but this is it. I...I can't do this anymore." Scout took a breath and his body shook ominously, like a low-magnitude earthquake. "I'm done. We're done. I don't wanna be a fag like this. Just...scram."

"Fine, then. You think I need you? The hell I do, I need you like I need a hole in my head, you fucking, you fuckin—" Pyro's voice failed him. The worst sound in the world was the sound someone's voice made before they started crying. The high-pitched, wavering crack. Tears didn't come, but the shaking shoulders and scrunched-up face did.

Even when crying, the man looked like a movie star, thought Scout, and he wondered if this was perhaps the worst thing he's ever done or the long-awaited solution to a mistake that should've been fixed before it had even happened.

Clutching his suit and mask to his chest, the other man ran out the door and slammed it behind him. Stomping. Scout waited to hear Pyro's squeaky door open, but instead there was just more stomping. A door opened, not a squeaky one, and Scout realized with distaste that Pyro had gone to Engineer's door. Predictable. He was going to tell Engie all about it. Cry to fucking Dell, and in return the man would baby him and treat him like his child. Pyro hadn't even bothered to get dressed before stomping over, the fucktard.

Scout knew that he'd have a ray of Texas Sunshine to deal with in the morning.

No one got much sleep that night.


End file.
